Village of Payns, Champagne District, Eastern France, Day 15, Month of April, 1106 CE
“I must be the most unfortunate man alive,” mourned Hugh de Payens, as he threw a pebble into the pond nearby, his face mirroring discontent.
“Why would you think that?” asked a man standing nearby, dressed in threadbare hose, a ratty tunic and a tattered hat. “You have food for the next meal, a roof over your head and air to breathe.”
A small group of men lounging around, smiled. All were in their late 20s or early 30s, and belonged to different branches of the same French family. “Not everyone has your happy view of life, Godfrey de Saint-Omer,” Hugh muttered. “Look at us all — trained to be knights and yet with no purpose, nothing to yearn for, to achieve. We’re unfortunates, I say.”
“In that case,” Andre de Montbard sat up languidly. “On the other side of the pond is one who seems more unfortunate than you.”
A mission
The men turned as one, to see a youngster dressed in the austere brown robes of a monk, collapsed on a boulder, gasping for breath. Compassion stirred within them and they rose, making their way swiftly to the fallen man. Closer, he seemed even younger than they had supposed — and they were right. His name, they discovered was Bernard; a young monk studying at Chatillon-sur-Seine — and he’d just turned 16.
But what he had to say, when they asked of him the reason for his exhaustion, stunned them.
“I am on a pilgrimage,” he stuttered, eyes puffy with fatigue. “I wish to worship at the feet of Christ. To walk along the Path of Sorrow; to weep at the site of crucifixion. To cleanse my soul. To find my purpose...”
“You wish to go to Jerusalem?” Godfrey demanded incredulously.
“You are in no condition to travel,” Payen de Montdidier counselled, gently. “You would not last a week.”
“Besides, you are following the wrong direction,” added Archambaud de St. Agnan. “You should have made for the Via Domitia.”
“Where...where is that?” Bernard asked weakly.
“The south of France. It was built by ancient Romans — Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus, who was Consul of Rome in 122 BCE,” said Geoffrey Bison. “But it would be too difficult for you.”
“But I must go, you see — I must see the light.” Despite his weakness, Bernard appeared resolute.
“Then go, you shall,” Hugh declared, suddenly. “And we shall escort you.” He turned to his companions. “Well? Surely this is a good cause; a just, worthwhile purpose? To help someone in need?”
There was a short, surprised silence. The men looked at each other, and nodded.
It was settled in a trice. Bernard was taken up on Hugh’s own strong stallion; the knights galloped towards a road, a road paved with rough stones, an ancient trade route laid during the Roman Empire. Through the towns of Valence, Gap and Torino they went, crossing into Italy through Pavia. They swept through forests; forded streams and rivers, crested small hillocks and crashed through deep valleys.
Long journey
Bernard’s health improved as they went along, clearly buoyed by the journey, and he managed to convey his shy thanks more than once. “I am glad for your escort on this arduous journey — and you do not even know me.”
“That is what it means, to be a chivalrous knight,” Hugo explained, quietly. “To help those who require it. Not with ulterior motives, but of an instinct to do good.”
Bernard said nothing, but looked thoughtful.
Days turned into weeks and then months, as the determined group cantered across bridges such as the Alcantara (“ Pontem perpetui mansurum in saecula ,” Bernard read the inscription, which translated to “I have built a bridge which will last forever,”) and along ancient roads such as the Via Egnatia until they reached the port of Brindisi, from where they crossed the Adriatic Sea, into Albania and then Greece.
The weather changed. Blustery winds and torrents of rain often threatened travel, as did groups of highwaymen and robbers. Sometimes, bands of mercenary soldiers barred their path, while battle raging in a few towns they passed halted journey altogether.
Through it all the knights soldiered on, with their charge.
December had arrived — a December still mild as they travelled south through Turkey, Lebanon and finally touched the soil of Jerusalem. It had been a long six months.
Bernard tottered off Hugh’s horse as they arrived at the borders of the holy city at sunset, going down on his knees at the sight of the spires rising in the distance. His eyes glistened with tears, and his face glowed with joy as he rose, and faced his exhausted escorts.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” he said, in heartfelt tones. “You have carried me through rain, hail, storms and gales, to my destination. May the blessings of pilgrims guide you forever, brave knights — for I have found my purpose.”
As the warriors watched the monk walk with a suddenly brisk gait towards the city, Hugh de Payens turned towards his friends, a new light in his eyes. “And I believe …” he paused. “I have found mine.”
Historical Note: The actual meeting between Hugh and Bernard may not quite have happened like this, but it’s a historical fact that they struck a firm friendship at some point in their lives. Hugh de Payens (1070 – 1136 CE) went on to achieve fame in the Crusade Wars, and continued to guide pilgrims to Jerusalem. Bernard, later venerated as St Bernard of Clairvaux (1090 – 1153 CE), formed the Cistercian Order. He would also, in 1128 CE, participate in the Council of Troyes which saw him and Hugh de Payens come together to create the Latin Rule, a code of behaviour for an Order that Hugh founded. An Order that would soon become world famous: the Knights Templar.
Published - January 24, 2019 05:00 pm IST
